February 27, 2005
I was very blessed as a graduate student. Not only was school/research great, but I had the greatest home. I owned (ok, the bank owned) a house on the Gasconade River. Hands down, the most beautiful river in the world. It was a wonderful living experience. I wish I'd done a post-doc just to stay there a little longer. It was supposed to be my retirement home, but hey, sometimes things don't go like you plan.
The river was great, though. I used to skip school to go fishing on our twenty-foot bass boat (sorry, Dr. Drewniak). Before my friend Flanders moved out of Missouri we would go fishing every single night.
Happy that I had it for a while.
The river was great, though. I used to skip school to go fishing on our twenty-foot bass boat (sorry, Dr. Drewniak). Before my friend Flanders moved out of Missouri we would go fishing every single night.
We had a great time. Our boat could go through 2-3 inches of water with the jet assembly. It rocked. One time, while fishing in the middle of the day, the game warden pulled up to the boat. He looked warily at my 190 pound Great Dane, and asked if he could look in the live well. I was a catch-and-release person, so there was nothing in there. I don’t think he ever actually looked at the live well, because he kept staring at Soren.
Then there were the times that I was going around a tight turn, and Soren would move. I can’t tell you how many times I thought I was going to bury the boat in a bank on a shoal. Another great memory was when my friends Flanders and Chris were swimming next to the boat, and I was at the helm. I steered the boat through Boiling Spring and they practically walked on water to get out of the cold. Don’t mean to be a turkey, but man that was funny....
Maybe someday Annie and I will venture back there. That was two lives ago, but it was one of the greatest…
Happy that I had it for a while.
February 26, 2005
After the discussion about my great-great aunt in the previous post, I thought it was time to introduce Sandy. Sandy originally belonged to my great-great aunt. When she was a kitten, she was abused, and has been skittish ever since. Early on to Annie's (my great-great aunt) adoption of Sandy, Sandy hid under the bed, and wouldn't come out. Annie was contemplating taking her back to the vet, and I was visiting. I crawled under the bed and extracted a very unhappy cat. At that point, I would have taken her back, too. Fortunately, after extraction, Annie and Sandy came to an agreement. Years later, when Annie passed away, I said I would take Sandy.
Hours after Annie passed away, I was trying to coax Sandy out of the closet. My grandmother walked in, threw a towel over her and put her in the box for transport. After arriving at my house, she spent two weeks hissing at me. I wasn't sure if I could keep this up. Then, I went to Annie's memorial service. An elderly woman approached me, and said "I understand that you have taken Sandy. I'm so glad to hear that. When Annie adopted Sandy we told her that she was at an age that the cat would out live her. She said "My family will take care of my cat when I'm gone". " Geez. With that in my mind, I went back to making friends with Sandy. We have become fast friends. She has learned to become bold, but friendly. Here she is sitting next to Lilo - an amazing advancement for her.
Loving the feline ways...
Hours after Annie passed away, I was trying to coax Sandy out of the closet. My grandmother walked in, threw a towel over her and put her in the box for transport. After arriving at my house, she spent two weeks hissing at me. I wasn't sure if I could keep this up. Then, I went to Annie's memorial service. An elderly woman approached me, and said "I understand that you have taken Sandy. I'm so glad to hear that. When Annie adopted Sandy we told her that she was at an age that the cat would out live her. She said "My family will take care of my cat when I'm gone". " Geez. With that in my mind, I went back to making friends with Sandy. We have become fast friends. She has learned to become bold, but friendly. Here she is sitting next to Lilo - an amazing advancement for her.
She has become so brave. Annie can pet her without fear of being bit. She comes out when friends are around. In fact, a friend came to visit from far away, who is allergic to cats. He couldn’t resist. Sandy came up, and he had to pet her. He ultimately ended up with cat hair in a place that an allergic person doesn’t want cat hair. Sorry, dude.
On top of that: she won’t use the cat box. She uses the floor wherever it is convenient to relieve herself. Every time I find it, I think I’m going to have her put to sleep. But, damn her, every time I sit down, she’s on my lap purring like you wouldn’t believe. She’s the lovingest thing, and I can’t bring myself to end it.
Oh well, I can deal…
Loving the feline ways...
I can't bring myself to watch "reality TV". I think it is the furthest thing from reality. However, I have beliefs on why this exists. The general public wants to see that "ordinary" people can do something interesting. The participants want recognition. The participants don't generally get enough money to justify eating worms or whatever they have to do. It's about memory and recognition. It's not real. Most if not all of these people will be forgotten in moments. I don't think much of Andy Warhol, but he got something right. He said that in the future everyone would get fifteen minutes of fame. I originally thought he was talking about the media, and that we would get to a point where everyone got a chance for the spotlight. I was wrong. He was talking about the need and desire to be remembered that we all aspire to. We'd get our fifteen minutes of fame, because we would strive for it. The method is wrong, though (in my opinion - which, of course, like noses everyone has one, and you can generally only pick your own). We all want to be remembered. Without the opportunity to be remembered for something great, we'll take what we can get. As I told a friend recently, a parched person in the desert will try to squeeze water from a rock if that is the only thing available.
There is another way, though. Be a hero. Strive to be the best that you can be. Don't justify your bad actions, but do the thing that you know that you should do. A very good friend of mine and I recently had a conversation about acts of good will. He believes that all acts of true goodness fit the true definition of altruism. I respect his opinion, but disagree slightly. I think most people who do something good feel something inside that is a reward. I think that's good stuff, because both parties are rewarded. If good things only come from a complete sense of selflessness, than the number of good acts that people perform will be reduced if not iliminated. We might find ourselves in a state of not willing to do something good, because it doesn't fit the criteria for altruism.
So, I ask that everyone do at least one heroic thing each week. I feel that it's acceptible to feel good about it. Maybe that feeling will grow, and build into a general behavior of doing good things. A word of caution: accept the feeling of doing something good as the reward (if you need one), don't expect it to be returned. Karma doesn't always respond. However, if you continue to try to be a hero, you will be remembered. One of my many heroes is my great-great aunt. Her name was Laura Pearl Yocham. The family called her Annie. She was a teacher to the core. She was a magnificent woman and the matriarch of our family until she passed on. I and a very special family member were with her when she took her last breath. As hard as it was for us, I think she appreciated that we were there. She was 98 years old, as I recall. She was strong, dignified, and caring. She was the only extend family I had when my family moved to Missouri, and one of the reasons we moved there. When we bought our farm, she helped us, and I think bought our first two pigs. One of which, was named Minnie Pearl (my pig). Some of her students continued to write her even up to her death. She had that kind of impact on people. As a result , I have given her the greatest honor that I have in my power to give. My daughter's name is Ann Marie Pearl Hockanson, and the name she goes by is Annie. That and taking over care of her cat are the greatest things in my power to give to sustain the great memory of a wonderful woman, one of my heroes.
I have other heroes, too. I've never been one to have great interest in sports or media folks. My heroes are like a couple I know that while in their mid 20's gave up all they knew. The man, a police officer, found that what he dealt with day-to-day was the sign of a degrading society that he didn't want to subject his children to. They had a daughter, who was born blind in one eye. The doctors told them that they shouldn't expect much from her. She would most likely be "slow". They refused to believe it. They encouraged and pushed her to be the best that she could be. She is currently one of the most brilliant people I know (another one of my heroes).
At any rate, this couple, faced with a future in an area that they didn't believe in, left. They left their known family and friends, in the face of scorn from people who said things like "I hope you know what you're doing". Yeah, that's supportive. They picked up and moved two-thousand miles away. No job. No understanding of what lay ahead, except that it must be better. They bought a farm with a house that the real-estate agent said the best thing they could do was light a match. They didn't do it. Their kids lived in a camper, and they set up a bed in one of the rooms, and set to work rebuilding the home. They did it. They made it work out of sheer determination. They worked as a family to build something out of nothing. The father and mother took jobs where they could and eventually found something permanent. Their kids grew up in an environment of work, trust, and dedication. They had experiences that few others could understand.
That was my mom and dad. My heroes. They don't have bachelor's degrees. They don't have high paying jobs, but they always told my sister and me that we would do something great. There was no question. My sister and I are both highly educated and successful. Granted, she's a liberal (just kidding, sis, I love you), but we have things to be proud of. The catalyst for our lives, in my opinion, began with that hard decision of our parents to move to some obscure place in Southwest Missouri. Be assured, this story will be passed down through my Annie, and her kids, and hopefully beyond.
So, the reason for this post? Go be a hero. If you have kids, it's actually a simple thing. Be there. Be at school. Be outside with them. Show them something wonderful that they don't know about. Go beyond this, too. Make someone at work feel good about themselves. If you go to to a restaurant, acknowledge the work of someone. If you are on the street, talk to someone that you wouldn't normally talk to. If you are driving down the road, let someone in that has made an error in judgement, and is now worried that they'll miss their exit. When you see someone on the road, wave (ok, if you live in a metropolitan area, restrict that to your neighborhood so you don't look like a freak). Be the hero. Include it in everything you do. Be proud of it. Make a difference.
Wanting to be a hero.
There is another way, though. Be a hero. Strive to be the best that you can be. Don't justify your bad actions, but do the thing that you know that you should do. A very good friend of mine and I recently had a conversation about acts of good will. He believes that all acts of true goodness fit the true definition of altruism. I respect his opinion, but disagree slightly. I think most people who do something good feel something inside that is a reward. I think that's good stuff, because both parties are rewarded. If good things only come from a complete sense of selflessness, than the number of good acts that people perform will be reduced if not iliminated. We might find ourselves in a state of not willing to do something good, because it doesn't fit the criteria for altruism.
So, I ask that everyone do at least one heroic thing each week. I feel that it's acceptible to feel good about it. Maybe that feeling will grow, and build into a general behavior of doing good things. A word of caution: accept the feeling of doing something good as the reward (if you need one), don't expect it to be returned. Karma doesn't always respond. However, if you continue to try to be a hero, you will be remembered. One of my many heroes is my great-great aunt. Her name was Laura Pearl Yocham. The family called her Annie. She was a teacher to the core. She was a magnificent woman and the matriarch of our family until she passed on. I and a very special family member were with her when she took her last breath. As hard as it was for us, I think she appreciated that we were there. She was 98 years old, as I recall. She was strong, dignified, and caring. She was the only extend family I had when my family moved to Missouri, and one of the reasons we moved there. When we bought our farm, she helped us, and I think bought our first two pigs. One of which, was named Minnie Pearl (my pig). Some of her students continued to write her even up to her death. She had that kind of impact on people. As a result , I have given her the greatest honor that I have in my power to give. My daughter's name is Ann Marie Pearl Hockanson, and the name she goes by is Annie. That and taking over care of her cat are the greatest things in my power to give to sustain the great memory of a wonderful woman, one of my heroes.
I have other heroes, too. I've never been one to have great interest in sports or media folks. My heroes are like a couple I know that while in their mid 20's gave up all they knew. The man, a police officer, found that what he dealt with day-to-day was the sign of a degrading society that he didn't want to subject his children to. They had a daughter, who was born blind in one eye. The doctors told them that they shouldn't expect much from her. She would most likely be "slow". They refused to believe it. They encouraged and pushed her to be the best that she could be. She is currently one of the most brilliant people I know (another one of my heroes).
At any rate, this couple, faced with a future in an area that they didn't believe in, left. They left their known family and friends, in the face of scorn from people who said things like "I hope you know what you're doing". Yeah, that's supportive. They picked up and moved two-thousand miles away. No job. No understanding of what lay ahead, except that it must be better. They bought a farm with a house that the real-estate agent said the best thing they could do was light a match. They didn't do it. Their kids lived in a camper, and they set up a bed in one of the rooms, and set to work rebuilding the home. They did it. They made it work out of sheer determination. They worked as a family to build something out of nothing. The father and mother took jobs where they could and eventually found something permanent. Their kids grew up in an environment of work, trust, and dedication. They had experiences that few others could understand.
That was my mom and dad. My heroes. They don't have bachelor's degrees. They don't have high paying jobs, but they always told my sister and me that we would do something great. There was no question. My sister and I are both highly educated and successful. Granted, she's a liberal (just kidding, sis, I love you), but we have things to be proud of. The catalyst for our lives, in my opinion, began with that hard decision of our parents to move to some obscure place in Southwest Missouri. Be assured, this story will be passed down through my Annie, and her kids, and hopefully beyond.
So, the reason for this post? Go be a hero. If you have kids, it's actually a simple thing. Be there. Be at school. Be outside with them. Show them something wonderful that they don't know about. Go beyond this, too. Make someone at work feel good about themselves. If you go to to a restaurant, acknowledge the work of someone. If you are on the street, talk to someone that you wouldn't normally talk to. If you are driving down the road, let someone in that has made an error in judgement, and is now worried that they'll miss their exit. When you see someone on the road, wave (ok, if you live in a metropolitan area, restrict that to your neighborhood so you don't look like a freak). Be the hero. Include it in everything you do. Be proud of it. Make a difference.
Wanting to be a hero.
February 25, 2005
I've introduced a new category for our animals and their impact...
It wouldn't be right if I didn't start with Soren. He was an amazing dog.
In his early years, I discoverd that he had a lot of energy. He also had a lot of affection. One day I went into the shower, and left the door open. Shortly after, I turned around to find this little Dane puppy in the shower. He patiently waited for me to finish. I never gave him cause to dislike the tub. As he grew, he had a bath every week. He learned a number of words like "turn around", "wait", etc. He was great at taking a bath. I would ask him if he was ready to take a bath, and he would simply walk in and get in the tub. He never complained or whined.
I have so many stories about Soren, they can't possibly be told in one post. So, I'll keep it to a story-by-story basis.
Soren's best friend was a black Lab named Duke. They spent a lot of time together. We met Duke'spets owners when Soren was in obedience class. They were behind him during a walk where Soren decided to take a dump. Per the class rules, I tried to clean it up. They gave me one piece of paper towel. He's a Dane. It takes a roll. Duke looked at him like "what am I supposed to do? He has spoiled the whole trail!" It was a terrible experience, but it preceeded meeting some of the best friends I have: the Hushaws.
After making friends with the Hushaws, Soren spent more and more time with them. When I went to school, I would drop him off in Duke's kennel, and they would play all day long. Soren decided their home was an extension to his own home (another story).
One time before Christmas, we invited Duke to spend the weekend with us. The Hushaws thought it was wierd, but then, we were a little wierd, so what the heck. We dressed the dogs up in all sorts of stuff, and took pictures. Ultimately, we found the best picture was just them being friends.
Dog's best friend
It wouldn't be right if I didn't start with Soren. He was an amazing dog.
In his early years, I discoverd that he had a lot of energy. He also had a lot of affection. One day I went into the shower, and left the door open. Shortly after, I turned around to find this little Dane puppy in the shower. He patiently waited for me to finish. I never gave him cause to dislike the tub. As he grew, he had a bath every week. He learned a number of words like "turn around", "wait", etc. He was great at taking a bath. I would ask him if he was ready to take a bath, and he would simply walk in and get in the tub. He never complained or whined.
I have so many stories about Soren, they can't possibly be told in one post. So, I'll keep it to a story-by-story basis.
Soren's best friend was a black Lab named Duke. They spent a lot of time together. We met Duke's
After making friends with the Hushaws, Soren spent more and more time with them. When I went to school, I would drop him off in Duke's kennel, and they would play all day long. Soren decided their home was an extension to his own home (another story).
One time before Christmas, we invited Duke to spend the weekend with us. The Hushaws thought it was wierd, but then, we were a little wierd, so what the heck. We dressed the dogs up in all sorts of stuff, and took pictures. Ultimately, we found the best picture was just them being friends.
I took this picture and had it blown up. Matted it and built a frame for it. We gave it to the Hushaws for Christmas. Hands down, this is the most significant gift I’ve ever given. Both dogs have now passed away. They are still missed, and thought of fondly. It’s a travesty that dogs don’t live as long as we do. Sometimes you make a friend that you just want to live forever.
Dog's best friend
My human neighbors are great. During some very difficult times they have been totally there for me. I have some four legged neighbors, though, that talk even more to me. When I'm out in the morning drinking my coffee, they tell me all about their lives and the problems they have. It brings me a great deal of peace and happiness... This is Zoe (before I actually met a person named Zoe). She has a boyfriend named Spike, but that was last year. He'll probably need a new name this year. Is there a name for Duo-Spike?
In touch with the fauna
In touch with the fauna
I often repeat myself in an attempt to make sure I'm understood and my directions are followed. Brush your teeth. Brush your teeth. Brush your teeth. Daddy, you always tell me that, I know. Well, honey, you aren't doing it, so I feel I have to remind you...
These good intentions can backfire, though. As much as we like routine, we do find times for deviating. The other day I had an egg sandwich: bread, egg, slice of cheese, and mustard. True to her mother's family's nature, she wanted a bite (I get no food completely to myself). She liked it, and wanted it for breakfast. The next morning, that's what she had. However, she decided she wanted it again for the next morning, but no cheese.
Can't help messing with her sometimes.
These good intentions can backfire, though. As much as we like routine, we do find times for deviating. The other day I had an egg sandwich: bread, egg, slice of cheese, and mustard. True to her mother's family's nature, she wanted a bite (I get no food completely to myself). She liked it, and wanted it for breakfast. The next morning, that's what she had. However, she decided she wanted it again for the next morning, but no cheese.
Scene 1: Night time, before bed.
Annie: Daddy, I don't want cheese on me egg sandwich.
Daddy: I know. You've told me. Go to sleep.
Annie: You always tell me that.
Scene 2: The next morning.
Daddy: Gets out of bed, begins the morning chores.
Annie: Daddy, I don't want cheese on my sandwich.
Daddy: I know. You told me.
Daddy comes in from feeding dog.
Annie: Daddy, don't put cheese on my sandwich.
Daddy: I know, you told me.
Daddy comes back from putting Annie's clothes in the dryer to warm up - don't ask.
Annie: Daddy, no cheese on my sandwich, please.
Daddy: I know, you told me.
Daddy comes back from packin Annie's backpack.
Annie: Daddy, have you started my sandwich? NO CHEESE.
Daddy: I know, you told me.
Daddy comes through after going through the morning bathroom er... deposit.
Annie: Daddy, please don't put cheese on my egg sandwich.
Daddy: I know, you told me.
Daddy comes in after having made the sandwich sans cheese.
Daddy: Annie, your breakfast is ready. You need to feed the cats and eat your breakfast. I made it just like you requested: extra cheese.
Annie: WHAT! Daddy, are you kidding?
Daddy: Yes, I'm kidding. You said it so many times, I just couldn't help saying that.
Annie: Humph.
Can't help messing with her sometimes.
February 24, 2005
February 23, 2005
Our current dog Tolkien is intellectually challenged, so I have little concern that he will read this and be offended.
As a kid, I had a number of dogs that were important to me, and played a significant part in my growing up. Sam, the border collie, protected me in my early years. He accompanied me at three to four years old when I thought I was going to run away. When we moved to town, he jumped our fence no matter how high it was. He couldn't stand to live in town (I know the feeling), and had to be placed with a family that could give him the freedom he needed. Bandit was a blue-tick mutt. He was great. He accompanied me on my miles-long horse rides and every dog on the way backed down from him, despite his small stature. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that after a couple of years, most of the young dogs we encountered looked a lot like him. But despite all of this, no dog can match the dedication and connection I had with Soren Kierkegaard Hockanson.
Soren was a Blue Merle Great Dane. He was the most intelligent dog I've ever encountered. He was the ultimate dog. I came upon him quite by accident. My mom was in the hospital to have a tumor removed from her pituitary gland, and while waiting in her room, I was going through the paper. I had wanted a dog, and knew that I had a tendency for giant breeds. This lady had decided to breed her Great Dane. After making sure that mom was ok, and cool with me leaving, I went to see the lady with the Great Danes. I was in love. The first Dane I wanted was a Boston (color). Fortunately, it walked up to me and urinated on the floor. I turned to the next dog. It was grey with black spots. It was happy, and seemed to be in more control of its bladder.
I bought him for the astronomical price of $200. (You don't want to know what I paid for Tolkien.) I'd never bought a dog before, and thought I must be insane. At less than three months old, he fit comfortable on the floor of the S10 pickup I had at the time. He grew out of that rather quickly. My life with Soren was very involved, and I hope to give Soren stories from time to time. Mainly, because Annie became very attached to him, and I hope some day she reads these ramblings and sees what I saw...
Rembering a great friend
As a kid, I had a number of dogs that were important to me, and played a significant part in my growing up. Sam, the border collie, protected me in my early years. He accompanied me at three to four years old when I thought I was going to run away. When we moved to town, he jumped our fence no matter how high it was. He couldn't stand to live in town (I know the feeling), and had to be placed with a family that could give him the freedom he needed. Bandit was a blue-tick mutt. He was great. He accompanied me on my miles-long horse rides and every dog on the way backed down from him, despite his small stature. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that after a couple of years, most of the young dogs we encountered looked a lot like him. But despite all of this, no dog can match the dedication and connection I had with Soren Kierkegaard Hockanson.
Soren was a Blue Merle Great Dane. He was the most intelligent dog I've ever encountered. He was the ultimate dog. I came upon him quite by accident. My mom was in the hospital to have a tumor removed from her pituitary gland, and while waiting in her room, I was going through the paper. I had wanted a dog, and knew that I had a tendency for giant breeds. This lady had decided to breed her Great Dane. After making sure that mom was ok, and cool with me leaving, I went to see the lady with the Great Danes. I was in love. The first Dane I wanted was a Boston (color). Fortunately, it walked up to me and urinated on the floor. I turned to the next dog. It was grey with black spots. It was happy, and seemed to be in more control of its bladder.
I bought him for the astronomical price of $200. (You don't want to know what I paid for Tolkien.) I'd never bought a dog before, and thought I must be insane. At less than three months old, he fit comfortable on the floor of the S10 pickup I had at the time. He grew out of that rather quickly. My life with Soren was very involved, and I hope to give Soren stories from time to time. Mainly, because Annie became very attached to him, and I hope some day she reads these ramblings and sees what I saw...
Well, Soren lived for eleven long and wonderful years. That’s a long time for a Dane, for those who don’t know. He and I survived two failed marriages, and a lot of wonderful times. I used to skip school (sorry, Dr. Drewniak) to go fishing and swimming with Soren. Annie thought he was her best friend (he was her dog). It’s hard having a pet that has a short life span, but he gave more than anyone can imagine. When I was having emotional times, bowing at my bed in an effort to reach someone who was supposed to be watching out for me, here comes Soren nuzzling under my arm, and slobbering on my face. He helped me get through so much, I can’t explain it. Granted, the screen is getting strangely blurry here, but I’ll end it by saying that his last breath was drawn trying to make me happy. I ensure you that I will have stories to share to make you chuckle from Soren.
I wonder if I’ll ever have a connection like that with another individual…
Rembering a great friend
When I was a kid, I ran everywhere barefoot. I climbed trees, ran down the gravel road, you name it. When I was about nine, I jumped out of the cherry tree outside our backyard and landed on a branch. I shoved a five inch wide and four inch long stick into my foot. Ok, it was about 1/8" wide and about 1/4" long... literally. I hurt like you wouldn't believe. I'd had a history of thorns and slivers and my dad always pulled them out with the utmost diligence. This time, he couldn't do it. I had to go to the doctor. After a shot in the foot with some useless painkiller, he sliced my foot open with your generic razor blade. I could feel it go through the flesh of my foot. It was terrible.
It was nothing compared to what I just experienced.
When Annie has had splinters in the past, I've always managed to get them out with a minimal amount of emotional scarring. Tonight? I'm not so sure. We were giving each other a high five, and she said "ow". Maybe it was more like "OWWWWW!" This began the one hour adventure that was the removal of a splinter. I went and got the small sewing kit with a needle that would remove the offending splinter (isn't that what my dad did?). She freaked. No. The splinter would wait until morning. No, sweetie, it must come out now. Wait! Wait! I have to tell you something. (This phrase was issued seventeen times during the trial.)
I tried to show her how to press the splinter out of her hand. I had become very good at this following the razor incident. No dice. She couldn't get it to budge. I was forced to use Daddy power to tell her that I had to get it out. In a midst of tears and "I have to tell you something" she asked (for the fourth time) that I try to just press it out. Praise God, I did. The redwood sized splinter came out, and our tears were over in a manner of minutes (mine and hers). She decided to call her mommy and tell her about it. After which, she fell asleep in record time. Emotional trauma always calls for sleep.
God, please watch over my angel, and let her not get any more splinters...
Not that kind of doctor
It was nothing compared to what I just experienced.
When Annie has had splinters in the past, I've always managed to get them out with a minimal amount of emotional scarring. Tonight? I'm not so sure. We were giving each other a high five, and she said "ow". Maybe it was more like "OWWWWW!" This began the one hour adventure that was the removal of a splinter. I went and got the small sewing kit with a needle that would remove the offending splinter (isn't that what my dad did?). She freaked. No. The splinter would wait until morning. No, sweetie, it must come out now. Wait! Wait! I have to tell you something. (This phrase was issued seventeen times during the trial.)
I tried to show her how to press the splinter out of her hand. I had become very good at this following the razor incident. No dice. She couldn't get it to budge. I was forced to use Daddy power to tell her that I had to get it out. In a midst of tears and "I have to tell you something" she asked (for the fourth time) that I try to just press it out. Praise God, I did. The redwood sized splinter came out, and our tears were over in a manner of minutes (mine and hers). She decided to call her mommy and tell her about it. After which, she fell asleep in record time. Emotional trauma always calls for sleep.
God, please watch over my angel, and let her not get any more splinters...
Not that kind of doctor
Can't help it. I have one more brief post.
Our English Mastiff, Tolkien Salinger Hockanson, is like one of those people who wants to be terribly polite, but still would really like to do what he wants.
I defrosted the chicken for tonight in the microwave. After placing it on the grill, I thought he might like to take the cooked fat off the plate. I showed him the plate, and he took a tentative taste. His tail wagged ninety-to-nothing. But, then he stopped. "No, I'm done, thank you." I began to take the plate away. "Well, if no one else wants it, maybe one more taste." He cleaned the plate. He seemed to be done. "Maybe one more check." Ok, now he was eating the plate, so I took it away.
What I don't understand is with that mentality, how could he seek and devour the pizza Annie and I orderd the other night. We made the mistake of walking away for a few minutes while he was in the house. Yeah, I know. Idiot. We came back in, and the pizza was gone, but Tolkien was on his bed. The tail was waggin' hard, and there was the last piece of pepperoni and black-olive on his bed.
Should keep away from animal husbandry
Our English Mastiff, Tolkien Salinger Hockanson, is like one of those people who wants to be terribly polite, but still would really like to do what he wants.
I defrosted the chicken for tonight in the microwave. After placing it on the grill, I thought he might like to take the cooked fat off the plate. I showed him the plate, and he took a tentative taste. His tail wagged ninety-to-nothing. But, then he stopped. "No, I'm done, thank you." I began to take the plate away. "Well, if no one else wants it, maybe one more taste." He cleaned the plate. He seemed to be done. "Maybe one more check." Ok, now he was eating the plate, so I took it away.
What I don't understand is with that mentality, how could he seek and devour the pizza Annie and I orderd the other night. We made the mistake of walking away for a few minutes while he was in the house. Yeah, I know. Idiot. We came back in, and the pizza was gone, but Tolkien was on his bed. The tail was waggin' hard, and there was the last piece of pepperoni and black-olive on his bed.
Should keep away from animal husbandry